Hopeless Reach
by S.Walden
Summary: Jyou returns home to something he'll never forget. One-shot. Jyoumato


Hopeless Reach

A/N: As a note, I really do hate suicide fics, but I hope this one is different. Also, the ending.. ugh, I dunno... form your own opinion kinda thing... I only wrote this drabble because of my own insomnia and the need to write something Jyou-related.

Jyou's POV. Mentions of Jyoumato, Ishida family fluff.

* * *

All I can think is _I've never seen a dead body before._ Yet, this is how I spend half my nights at the hospital, interning, preparing for this sight. I usually faint at the sight of blood and I was getting it down to a mere retch until I feel poison air rise from my stomach at the sight.

I turn away, trying to sort my thoughts. I may have tried to prepare for the operating table and the aftermath, but I never prepared for things like _knowing_. Knowing the person in front of me. Or wondering why this had to happen to them.

The body is sprawled in such a way that it curls unto itself like a child and it makes tears well up in my eyes, but they immediately retreat into the depths of my mind as my pupils linger over to a mass of blood and hair.

Finally, the scent of gunpowder hits my nose. I don't know what to make of it. And I'm mad. Sadness passes quickly and I want to strangle the corpse. He always joked about these things, but I never took him seriously. His laugh was genuine, as if he didn't believe his own words either, and it soothed my worried heart.

Was this my fault? No. He would deck me for even considering it. He would blame himself and rightfully so. I knew how foolish this was. He knew it, too. The reason we were both in this room in such a state, however, was still beyond my comprehension.

Something had to push him over and I figure it was only one thing. The body can only do so much before it succumbs to it's needs, even if those needs will result in the death of said form. Like an addict, which he certainly wasn't. Another thing he had joked about that made bile rise in me.

"That's why I keep you around; so I won't go near that shit," he joked. I proceeded to jab at him that I was a surgeon and not a pharmacist, to his luck.

At least that time it hadn't been a lie.

But as I sat there in the dark, the room exactly as it was when I entered it save my silent footprint now surrounded by his blood, I still kept asking _why_. I knew the reason, but it didn't stop me from screaming it into the stagnant, copper air.

I wanted to know exactly what reason made him pull the trigger. Not what I could logically guess was his reason. Or, what was a summary of his reason. Because something so grand couldn't be so damn simple.

But he had told me that, too, having had the thoughts before...

"You know, suicides have tunnel vision. Can't see anything but the light they want to go towards, yet they're helpless to reach."

"You don't feel like that anymore, do you?"

"No," he told me quickly with a smile. Why had I expected him to say "sometimes"?

All the warning signs were piling up in my head and made me dizzy.

I couldn't take my eyes from his body. His dress shirt was white and almost like a sheet draped around him. He hadn't even removed his boots.

I took a deep breath. I couldn't subject myself to this much longer. I needed to call someone, anyone. Surely, there would be an investigation, and then people would ask me once the media cleared doubt from their minds: why?

Fuck, I don't know why, ask him yourselves.

"You were his boyfriend, couldn't you see this coming?"

I tried not to picture everyone asking me that, especially his father and brother. I wasn't sure how his mother would take it, but I'm sure she would be devastated. I finally found the will to grab the phone and call. The words tumbled out of my mouth and I assessed myself. I was going into shock.

I wasn't sure how much time passed as my nerves jumbled and my mind went blank. Eventually, someone lead me down the hall. I could see a blur of blonde hair and for a second my heart jumped and I thought maybe I had imagined the entire thing, but it was only Takeru.

"It's not true, is it?" he asked me, the desperate look on his face like the last bit of sanity in a madman.

I couldn't speak. I could barely look up. I was supposed to be there for him, but only squeaks escaped me. Takeru knew me too well to know that was all he needed and I watched as the seconds, ticking like hours, as his face cracked and his voice wailed. I wasn't sure who held him back. His father, probably, but I kept walking past them. I wasn't allowed to leave yet and the cops at the door made sure of that, but I couldn't be near anyone.

I tried to think of something to console myself, but Takeru's wailing was unbearable, like a puppy locked in a cage. "Oniichan, I'm sorry!"

I felt my breath still and counted the seconds until my lungs picked up again. The reason why I could breathe once more came in a strange embrace. I felt his father's arms surround me and in so many ways it reminded me of him- the scent of smoke, the ratty shirt. Finally my tears broke and puddles began to form on the grown man's arms.

He pulled away shortly after. To do such a thing that long was a great leap for him. I thanked him, but I wasn't sure how sincere I could feel. I expected him to tear into me for letting him down, letting his son down, for not being there.

"...I couldn't..." I started, then realized what I was going to say. "I couldn't help him."

All my life I had been responsible for people, especially their safety. I had given that life over to Yamato seven years prior. Now, he had taken it with him.

"I thought... his name..." I whispered to myself. For the first time I connected that thing in the room to my world. "Yamato..."

Then, from the corner of my eye I saw his father turn to a dark corner and sob into his palm silently. Takeru's cries were beginning to fade as his voice gave way. There was so much pain here and Yamato wouldn't wish it on any of us. I figured, he must have told himself that his own pain outweighed ours.

Of course, everyone knows that they- and now I was distancing myself and grouping him into a damn statistic for my own comfort –don't consider our feelings.

As the initial shock finally passed I looked up, cleaning my glasses. At first, I was sure I saw Takeru again, but no. Yamato was there, leaning against the wall with a cigarette, like I had seen him several times, looking sadly at what had been nothing at all.

_Yamato_, I thought.

_Jyou_, I could hear. _Take care of him. That's all I ask. Take care of Takeru._

Oh, that time, I had heard the same thing as he carried Tsunomon under his arm and willed his legs deeper into the forest. I wondered, was this just another journey he would set out on? Did that mean, I had to go find him once more?

_Don't follow me. We agreed. _

_ I don't remember that,_ I told myself.

I could hear him chuckle, _Trust me. Somewhere we agreed. _

"I'll see you again," I spoke with a weak smile. "Although, I hate not knowing."

_Not knowing is probably best. You would worry too much._

_You're right about that, Yamatonii,_ I smiled again at the nickname and let a shaky breath escape my lips.

Then, it was gone. He was gone. I looked over to the second crumpled up blonde I had lay witness to that day and walked over, helping Takeru to his feet- if him falling into me was any indication of him standing. His legs were all over mine as if they were made of gel.

"It's all my fault," his dying voice croaked into my shoulder. Despite his sadness, one fist was beating against my shoulder. He was thinking _It's all your fault, Oniichan._

"Neh, it's no one's fault," I reassured him. "You know what he would say if he were here?" I asked Takeru, glancing to that empty spot again. The boy whimpered and buried his face into me once more. "I made a mistake, but don't let Takeru suffer for it. Tell him I'm sorry. I know that doesn't make it better."

"...how is that supposed to help?" the boy asked weakly.

"Yamato was never good at those kinds of things," I explained.

"Jyou, why? You must know," Takeru pleaded. And with that, it had begun and I struggled to find a good excuse where there was none, except in the dead man's echo.

"He'll tell you when you're ready," I whispered, surprised at myself.

"...when will that be?" Takeru asked, standing on his own two feet.

"You know your Niisan, he's a procrastinator," I chuckled.

Takeru at least had a hint of a smile at the edge of his lips. For a moment, he seemed to pull from my strength and turned to his father who had long ceased his weeping in favor of a pack outside on the apartment complex steps. Takeru started off to join his father before turning back to me a moment. I nodded at him and past to the door, shining bright at the end of the corridoor with the morning's light.

_At least it's no longer hopeless to reach..._


End file.
